


Not Quite Lost, Not Quite Found

by slash4femme



Series: Not Quite Lost, Not Quite Found [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love, bonding fic, past Spock/Kirk, talk of children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-23
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a question of children, bonding and the future</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/) **cardiac_logic**  who is wonderful. There may  indeed have to be a side fic about the cat. 

I.

Her name was T’Ral. She was sixty-two, well within the age that Vulcan women could safely carry and bear a child. She had taught molecular biological sciences at the Vulcan Science Academy prior to the destruction of Vulcan. She had lost her mate during the destruction of their home world. She would also be considered quite beautiful for a Vulcan female.

Ambassador Spock does not sigh, although he does feel regret and a little bit of frustration. He should be quite honored that she has agreed to be bonded to him, and in a certain way he is. Neither is it logical for him to reject this match; he has read her work and she is quite compatible to him both intellectually and genetically. No, he cannot fault the Council’s choice of T’Ral. However, he will decline this match, for he is not free to give himself to her, not while there is another.

He draws her file up anyway, although he has already read it, and for a long moment stares at the image it includes: dark hair, with a hint of grey, pulled back neatly from her face; large dark eyes; pale skin; a stern expression, so very proper, so very Vulcan. For a minute he indulges in a fantasy of taking her for his mate, and then he actually does sigh. He cannot do it; neither does he wish to, for there is Leonard to consider. He turns away from the computer screen and instead looks across his study to the shelves of antique Earth books that he collects. He can remember Leonard standing, examining these books, taking one after the other into his large strong hands, turning them over and opening them. He had given each book his undivided attention with an intensity that had amused Spock slightly. His Leonard, the McCoy of this time and place, is quieter than the man Spock remembers, nor is he as openly passionate, although the emotions and intensity are still there, just underneath the surface. Leonard’s smile is the same though, gentle and giving in his open expression of joy.

This thing they have between them is so very fragile, Spock knows. Both parties bringing with them their own fears and anxiety, and separated as they are by the openness of space. They are also unbonded. Spock turns back to the computer screen and the serene countenance of the Vulcan woman. His thoughts, however, are still on the human doctor, on the sweet hesitancy Leonard exhibits when Spock takes his hand or kisses him in either the Vulcan or human way. Leonard acts as if he cannot understand why anyone would seek out simple physical intimacy with him, and this has stirred something protective in Spock that makes him seek out such small intimate touches with the Doctor whenever possible. They have not shared the fullness of intimacy as yet, however Spock will admit to himself that he cares very deeply for this Leonard McCoy, loves him even. He would never wish to harm him or be separated from him, but now duty demands both.

There is no doubt that the Vulcan race faces a grave threat to its future. There is not a sufficient number of them, and there are far too many surviving males and not enough females. Spock knows that the New Vulcan Science Academy has been working tirelessly on genetic manipulation, which would allow them to combine DNA regardless of the gender of the donor. It would also allow the use of medical incubators, already regularly and safely used in the medical treatment of dangerous pregnancies, to ensure more children than the Vulcan female population can at the moment. Spock approves of these measures, he has been instrumental in this research; however, the Federation bans such genetic manipulation, and although Vulcan lawyers and diplomats have been working to make Vulcan exempt from such a ban, they have as yet been unsuccessful.

As it stood now all Vulcan females were required to find a mate, Vulcan males were encouraged to do so as well. Debates raged over whether or not to require the rest of the Vulcan male population to mate even if that meant with non-Vulcan females. If the genetic research was allowed then it would not matter and male Vulcans would be able to take other male Vulcans as mates and produce full-blooded Vulcan children. Spock cannot help but sigh again, another worry, Vulcan’s adherence to racial purity had always been trying.

He shakes his head and shuts off his computer. He cannot choose her, but he knows the Council will not understand his choice of a human lover he is unbonded to - whom he has known only a short while, whom he barely sees - yet Leonard is still his choice. For a moment he wonders what his younger counterpart will choose to do. He wonders who the Council has selected for the younger man and whether his other self will return to Vulcan and fulfill his duty to his race or whether this will only serve to drive him further away. He sighs again. Sarek has already taken his advised mate, and Spock hopes that his younger self realizes that it is out of duty only; Sarek still loves Amanda, and maybe they are all not as logical as they would like to believe.

The small half-grown grey cat, Daniel, tries to claw his way up Spock’s leg and into his lap, and Spock detangles himself from the tiny creature, putting the cat on the floor before standing. He crosses the room, takes his jacket and leaves the house.

 

II.

Commander Spock, First Officer of the Enterprise, is angry. Either that or he’s freaking out; McCoy has a hard time telling the difference. Not that most people would be able to tell something is wrong at all, Spock acts almost the same as ever, but there is a new tenseness about him; he is impatient with those who do not follow orders correctly, he has become even more pedantic than usual and he fights with Jim more.

McCoy finally corners him in the mess hall. “What’s up, Spock?”

Spock sits ramrod straight in his chair, unfinished meal in front of him, “I do not understand the question, Doctor.”

“Like hell you don’t.” McCoy sits down opposite him, “You’ve been in a foul mood for almost a week, worse than usual. I think Jim’s going to kick you out of an airlock pretty soon if you keep this up.”

Spock clasps his hands in front of him on the table, “It is a personal matter.”

McCoy’s eyes narrow, “Private as in to do with the message from Vulcan you received?”

Spock’s eyebrows go up at that, and McCoy rolls his eyes, “Jim is a horrible gossip, Spock, especially with me.”

“The Vulcan Council has requested that I take a mate.”

It is McCoy’s turn to raise his eyebrows; that had taken a lot less arm-twisting than he had expected. “And this is a problem?”

If possible, Spock stiffens even more, “I do not wish to take a mate at this time.” Spock informs him, voice hard and emotionless, “Although I understand the logic of the request.”

McCoy sits there for a moment watching him, “So what are you going to do?”

For a moment McCoy sees something flicker behind Spock’s eyes, “I do not know.”

 

III.

The Federation has finally agreed to conduct hearings into whether or not Vulcans should be granted the ability to use genetic manipulation for the repopulation of their species. Delegations have been convened of Vulcan Council members, scientists, diplomats and lawyers. Three Starfleet flagships have been assigned to escort them to Earth, the Enterprise being one of them. Spock is among the members of the scientific delegation and he makes sure he is assigned aboard the Enterprise. Jim meets the delegation personally with due formality; he gives them a tour of the ship, shows them to their quarters. Spock drops his bags in his room and goes in search of the Doctor.

McCoy is in sickbay, sitting in his office, reading reports, one finger gently tapping against the top of the desk. His head is bent and his eyes gold, flecked with green in the light.

“Doctor.” McCoy looks up and then stares at Spock and Spock allows his eyes to soften in his own version of smile, “Did you not know I was coming aboard?”

“No.” McCoy stands and moves around his desk, “I should have checked the list of Vulcan delegates I guess, I just assumed . . .”

Spock holds out two fingers and after a long moment McCoy reaches out and traces them with his own. Spock deftly catches McCoy’s large, strong hand with his hand, holds it tightly.

“I get off shift in an hour.” McCoy looks at their hands almost awkwardly and Spock strokes the tips of his fingers across McCoy’s knuckles.

“I will see you then, Doctor.”

McCoy only nods.

 

IV.

When McCoy comes through the door of Spock’s quarters Spock stands from where he’s been reading and comes across the room to stand in front of the other man. He does not touch him and after a moment McCoy reaches out and takes both of Spock’s hands in his own.

“I’ve missed you.” McCoy is looking at their hands again, and Spock gently untangles their fingers, placing his hands on McCoy’s shoulders. He strokes one hand across one of McCoy’s broad shoulders to grasp the back of his neck and turns McCoy’s face up very slightly so their lips meet in a human kiss. After a brief moment McCoy leans into him, making a soft noise into Spock’s mouth, and kisses him back hard. Their tongues slide against each other, twist, explore, claim, in a way Spock finds most pleasing. They pull away only long enough to breathe through their noses as McCoy places light little kisses on Spock’s lips and the corners of his mouth. McCoy’s hands tighten on Spock’s waist, pulling them together for another long, fierce, messy kiss.

“Leonard,” Spock strokes one hand lightly across McCoy’s face when they finally break apart again, “we must talk.”

“Yeah?” McCoy swallows, he’s a little flushed and more than a little distracted, leaning against Spock so that their bodies touch in a way Spock finds pleasing. Actually right now he finds everything about the other man pleasing. He kisses him again, lightly on the lips for no other reason than because he can.

“Indeed.” He firmly draws his mind away from the distraction of McCoy’s mouth. “The Vulcan Council,” he traces two fingers light down McCoy’s throat, feels the other man shiver against his touch, “has arranged that I be bonded.”

McCoy jerks back slightly and Spock lets him go reluctantly. “What?” McCoy’s eyes are dark, confused, and Spock sighs.

“Adult male Vulcans who do not have a mate are being requested to take one to facilitate the repopulation of the species. The Vulcan Council has paired many living Vulcans with suitable mates. I myself have been paired with T’Ral.”

“I see.” McCoy takes another step away from Spock, his voice tight with pain, anger and fear.

“She is a logical choice for me,” Spock tells him softly, and watches McCoy’s eyes darken further, become guarded. Spock takes a step forward towards McCoy, “However this is not what I wish.” He tells the other man gently reaching out for him once more, “And I have not informed the Council of my decision either way.”

“But she is the logical choice?” McCoy allows Spock to touch his wrist but does not reach out for Spock.

“Yes,” Spock allows,“but she is not my chosen mate.”

McCoy stares at him, stunned for a long minute, and Spock pulls the younger man forward and into his arms once more.

“Whoa, whoa, back up to the part where she is your logical choice but you’re not bonding with her.” Spock is busy tracing the cool skin at McCoy’s collar.

“This is true,” Spock tells him patiently, “I have chosen not to take the logical course of action in this case; you should be pleased.”McCoy smiles at that and reaches up one hand to cup the back of Spock’s neck, thumb gently stroking at the small amount of hair there. “Leonard,” Spock says softly, tracing his fingers across McCoy’s chest until he has one hand pressed against the other man’s heart. “Bond with me?”

For the second time that night McCoy regards him with utter shock, “What?”

“Bond with me,” Spock says simply as he watches the color drain out of McCoy’s face.

“Spock . . .” McCoy lets go of him and takes a step back again. “Spock, I . . . I don’t think I can.”

Spock feels the fear coming off the other man and understands, although it saddens him more than he had thought possible. He had hoped that it would be different for his Leonard this time. “I would not hurt you,” he keeps his voice very gentle and McCoy shakes his head.

“I just . . .I don’t think I’m ready.” He gives a small self-deprecating laugh that hurts Spock deeply and runs his fingers through his short hair until it stands on end. “I’m not ready not to be the only one inside of my own head, and I also don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment.” McCoy looks down at his own hands for a long moment as if thinking and Spock waits. Finally McCoy moves, closing the space between them and taking Spock’s hands in his own again. “I’m sorry,” he says very softly, and Spock can feel that he genuinely is. He can feel the deep sadness and regret coming off of McCoy. He pulls the younger man close and kisses his forehead and then his lips.

“Tonight it does not matter,” Spock tells him. He twines their fingers together, “May I accompany you to the officer’s mess hall, Dr. McCoy?”

He asks and can feel McCoy smile against his jaw, “Sure.” McCoy kisses him lightly on the chin and Spock knows that for now at least all is well.

 

V.

“We’ll pick all of you ladies and gentlemen up and bring you back to Vulcan in two standard weeks,” Kirk tells the Vulcans assembled in the transporter room. “Have a good hearing, you guys.” The Vulcans generally just stare at him.

“May I inquire as to where the Enterprise will be in the mean time, Captain?” Ambassador Spock asks and Kirk nods.

“Beta Sector XVI surveying planets,” he tells the older man and Spock nods.

“I suggest, Captain, you remember to wear a coat,” he tells Kirk, then raises his hand in the Vulcan gesture of farewell.

 

VI.

It is snowing; that’s putting it mildly. All three of them are huddled together against the wind that’s whipping down from the mountains, bringing with it great gusts of snow and ice.

“You should not have come here, Captain.”

“Come on, Spock. Charting unknown planets is what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“You are the Captain; endangering your life is not what you are supposed to be doing.”

“I am not endangering my life,” Kirk tells him, then hisses sharply in pain. “The arm’s only broken.”

“Falling down that slope you could have easily broken your neck, or sustained internal bleeding, or fractured your skull.”

“But seeing as I didn’t, Commander . . .” Kirk cuts himself off to cry out in pain as McCoy straightens the arm in question and then scans it to make sure it is in fact only broken, “Jesus Christ, Bones! A little warning next time please.”

“The regulations clearly state that the Captain should remain aboard the ship unless . . .”

“Yeah and the regulations are clearly wrong, besides I’m not staying stuck up on the ship while . . .”

“I do not understand why you continually refuse to see reason.”

“And I don’t understand . . .”

“Ok knock it off you guys,” McCoy finally says, and Kirk glares at him and Spock gives him a long, stony look. McCoy sighs, he doesn’t understand it, he really doesn’t; they fight all the time over pretty much nothing and it’s a wonder anything gets done at all. Actually it’s a wonder Spock hasn’t tried to strangle Kirk, again.

“Ok, Jim.”McCoy runs the tricorder over him just one more time to make sure. “Your arm is dislocated as well as broken. I’m going to have to pop it back into your shoulder manually, so you’re going to want to hold onto something. Alright?”

Kirk reaches out blindly where he lies against the ground, partly sheltered by an overhang and the two other men kneeling next to him. His hand comes into contact with Spock’s, and he grips Spock’s hand tightly.

“Alright I’m going to count to three.” McCoy uses his soothing-yet-professional voice, “Ready, Jim?” Kirk grits his teeth and nods. “One.” McCoy shoves Kirk’s arm up hard and Kirk screams, his hand clenching around Spock’s so tightly that Spock actually gasps. “Ok.” McCoy runs the tricorder over Kirk again. “That’s done it.” On the ground Kirk is gasping for breath, his hand still firmly clenched around Spock’s, and McCoy notes Spock doesn’t pull away.

 

VII.

There are certain things about Commander Spock that remind McCoy of the Ambassador: the way Spock holds himself, the way he moves his hands. McCoy often catches himself staring at Spock’s hands, large, long fingered, and beautiful. McCoy is not easy around Vulcans in general, but being around the Ambassador is always easy, always comfortable. The lines of Spock’s body are the same too, tall and strong, and that was the first thing that McCoy noticed about the Ambassador when they had first met, how strong the man seemed. Even now when McCoy thinks of his Spock he thinks of strength and gentleness.

_Bonded_ . Spock had said and McCoy remembers the fear that had overtaken him when he thought Spock was going to leave him for the Vulcan woman who was in fact a very logical choice. Except that Spock isn’t, he isn’t doing what is logical, and he’s doing that because of McCoy.  _She is not_ _my chosen mate_ , Spock had said, which meant that McCoy was his chosen mate. 

Bonded to Spock, McCoy can’t imagine it, can’t imagine sharing his head with someone else willingly. He can’t imagine being married again, either.

And yet.

_I will not hurt you_ , Spock had been so earnest, as if McCoy thought he actually would, and of course McCoy knew Spock would never hurt him. 

McCoy missed him, he really did miss him when they were apart, and between both their jobs that was pretty much constantly. It would be nice to have Spock close in some way, to have some sort of real contact with him, some kind of comfort, even when McCoy was out here in space. It would be good to have someone somewhere waiting for him, giving a damn about him.

It would be . . . It would be good.  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[**cardiac_logic**](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/) who is wonderful and also just really amazing. Oh and by the way if you haven't seen ****[](http://bendtothesun.livejournal.com/profile)[**bendtothesun**](http://bendtothesun.livejournal.com/)'s[S/K vid](http://bendtothesun.livejournal.com/105561.html) yet you definitely should. It's the way reboot differs from TOS. 

I.

“I do not understand why you continue to act so illogically, Captain.”

“What I don’t understand is why this keeps coming as a surprise to you, Spock,” Kirk grits out from where he’s being supported between McCoy and Spock. He’s badly beaten; everyone had known that allowing Kirk to fight that village in hand-to-hand combat was a bad idea. Now here they are, running through the woods with angry villagers after them, and Kirk’s probably broken a rib or two.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,” McCoy says through gritted teeth. “You should know by now that Jim thrives on doing stupid shit.”

Kirk throws him a baleful, if pained, look. One of his eyes is swollen shut and McCoy has to do something about that just as soon as they stop moving.

“As the Captain of a starship, your actions are particularly inadvisable,” Spock states. “We are outside of the force field now,” he flips open his comm, “Spock to Enterprise, three to beam up directly to sickbay.”

“So what would you have me do, exactly?” Kirk asks as McCoy and Spock haul him onto a biobed and McCoy and Chapel dash around getting stuff and scanning him. “Stay on the ship constantly, never go on an away team? What about when members of my crew are taken hostage; what about negotiations, Spock? What about first contact?” 

“There are certain times when it is appropriate for a Captain to leave the ship and go to the surface of a planet,” Spock allows. “However, you do not have to be on every away team and you especially do not need to go on ones where there is a strong possibility of danger.”

“I’m not on every away team,” Kirk snaps as McCoy repairs the bruising on his face. “And I do not appreciate you undermining my authority every time we are in a dangerous situation, Commander.”

He slides down off the biobed, ignoring McCoy’s yell, and makes to push by Spock for the door.

“Do not,” Spock grabs Kirk in one fluid movement, spins him around with ease and lightly tosses him back towards the biobed, “underestimate the importance of your life.”

There is no mistaking the anger in Spock’s voice and Kirk stares at him for a long moment, then gets back onto the biobed and Spock turns on his heel and storms out. 

 

II.

“How is it going?”

McCoy asks Spock when they talk that night.

“Well enough.” Spock sounds tired, he looks tired too, in his heavy over-formal black suit that still manages to make McCoy all hot and bothered every time. “Humans have a very old, very deep seated fear of genetic manipulation, but then I did not come here expecting this task to be easy.”

“Yeah,” McCoy’s eyes trace one of Spock’s long grey eyebrows, “I’m not sure about this whole babies being born in incubators either.”

The eyebrow McCoy has been fantasizing about licking goes up, “And why is that, Doctor?”

“Vulcan babies . . . ” McCoy tears his eyes away from Spock’s eyebrows and gets his mind out of the gutter. “Vulcan babies have a very weak empathic connection with their mothers; I’m not sure how a Vulcan child who didn’t have that because they were inside of a machine will turn out. Developmentally speaking.”

Both eyebrows are up now, “Your knowledge of Vulcan psychology and physiology is impressive, Leonard; however, the doctors of Vulcan have determined that unless a Vulcan child is in crisis or close to death in some way, there will be minimal chance of long term damage.”

“Well that sounds good and healthy.” McCoy leans back in his seat.

“We have very little choice,” Spock points out.

McCoy sighs. He knows New Vulcan is in trouble; he knows that this is necessary, and in fact he’s been part of the research team that’s been studying the effects of using incubating equipment in that way. It still feels strange, even after the trip home in a badly damaged ship full of Vulcans, even after being in a relationship with one, to think that at this point he’s one of the leading human experts in Vulcan physiology.

He goes back to watching Spock, this time watching his lips - thin but soft, he knows from experience, and surprisingly giving. “Spock and Jim almost came to blows again, today,” he tells the older man conversationally.

“So they are still not getting along?” Spock seems both a little sad and confused by this.

McCoy shakes his head, “No. Fighting with each other and maybe even lusting after each other, but definitely not getting along.”

Spock eyebrows climb higher at this, “They are in a sexual relationship?”

McCoy shakes his head, “No, I don’t think so.” He watches the still extremely confused look on Spock’s face, “I’m taking it that was never part of your relationship with the other James Kirk?”

A series of expressions, none of which McCoy can identify, move very quickly across the older man’s face, and then are gone. “No,” Spock finally says, and McCoy grins at Spock’s bemused tone, then becomes distracted by Spock’s ears and the thought of possibly tasting them. “Leonard?” Spock cocks his head to the side slightly, “You seem to be somewhat distracted.”

McCoy flushes - he can’t help it - and ducks his head. “I was thinking of you,” he tells Spock without really looking at him, “thinking about how much I miss you.” Spock’s expression softens at that, and McCoy tries to come up with a way to say what he wants to say next and not sound like a prick, “I want to . . . I want to sleep with you.” McCoy sighs inwardly, why was this so hard for him and so easy for Jim? He sighs outwardly as well, “I want to have sex, Spock, with you, right now or at the very least when we’re next in the same solar system.”

Spock is watching him with another look McCoy can’t quite place, but all he says is, “That would be acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” McCoy sits back in his seat a little, feeling a little more comfortable, a little freer to tease, “Only acceptable, Spock?”

Spock’s eyes have become darker than normal and they narrow very slightly, and McCoy recognizes Spock’s version of a smile, “Most acceptable, Leonard.” He inclines his head slightly and signs off.

McCoy sits there for a long moment looking at the blank screen. He tries to convince himself he won’t be jerking off tonight thinking about those hands and that voice, and then gives up and goes to bed. If it makes him a sad, horny loser then so be it. 

 

III.

Spock is having an off day. In every way he acts perfectly normal: he does his job, he is civil and businesslike to everyone, he eats all his meals, he teaches Ensign Madison how to troubleshoot the science computers. Only Kirk, McCoy and very possibly Uhura notice the difference. Spock holds himself tightly, folded into himself like he might very possibly be too sharp around the edges, like he’s something fragile. McCoy watches him carefully all day, but doesn’t approach him, doesn’t try to talk to him. Spock has had days like this since his mother’s death but McCoy had thought it was getting better, there had been fewer of them lately. Right now he doesn’t know what to say to him, how to try and make this better. It’s so strange; if this were the Ambassador, McCoy would know that just being there with him, just offering him the comfort of his physical presence, would be enough. With the Commander though, McCoy’s not so sure.

It’s Kirk who breaks the stalemate, actually. He sits down at the table where McCoy and Spock are eating their dinners, not talking or making eye contact with each other.

“Bones, Spock,” Kirk says cheerily, grinning at both of them before digging into whatever chili-like thing is on his plate.

McCoy wrinkles his nose and takes a bite of his own sandwich, “Jim.”

“So, Spock.” Kirk leans a little across the table toward his First Officer. “Want to play a little chess?”

Spock stares at him for a long moment like he’s just grown an extra set of arms. “I was not aware,” he says after a long moment, “that you knew how to play chess, Captain.”

Kirk only grins wider, “I don’t.” He reaches across the table and slaps Spock on the arm, “You can teach me.”

“You’ve been talking to the Ambassador,” McCoy says as soon as they both leave the mess hall.

“Yep.” Kirk starts down the hall, and McCoy raises his eyebrows at him. “Spock’s my first officer and my friend, and I can’t have him bottling it all up like that constantly; next thing I know he’s going to go for my jugular again.”

“So you’re going to have him teach you chess?”

“Yeah.” Kirk gives him a long sidelong look McCoy chooses to ignore.

“You do know that takes things like patience and discipline?”

“I’m a starship Captain,” Kirk tells him rather huffily, “I have patience and discipline.”

McCoy only snorts, “Just don’t kill each other.” 

 

IV.

He was supposed to be talking to the Ambassador right now. Except for the fact that Commander Spock is lying in sickbay slowly dying of some kind of blood poisoning and McCoy’s been working around the clock to figure out what it is and how to stop it. McCoy closes his eyes for a moment as the screen in front of him blurs; he really wants to be in is quarters right now thinking of nothing more important than the older Spock’s hands. He opens his eyes and starts inputting data again.

“Drink this,” Kirk puts a cup of coffee on the desk next to McCoy’s elbow, how many hours later McCoy doesn’t even know, “before you pass out.”

McCoy grunts something and grabs for it without looking.

“How’s he doing?” Kirk is watching Spock’s motionless body through the observation window that divides sickbay from the medical labs.

“He’s dying,” McCoy swigs half the cup of scalding hot coffee in one go, “I’m doing the best I can but I’ve never seen anything even remotely like this, Jim.”

“I shouldn’t have let him go down there.” Kirk crosses his arms over his chest in what is a self-hug more than anything else, “I should have been on the away team.”

“Yeah,” McCoy swallows the rest of his coffee without taking his eyes off the screen, “because then I’d have a dead Ensign, a dying First Officer and a dead or dying Captain to worry about.”

McCoy lets his eyes slide briefly off the screen and onto Kirk, before looking back at the screen, his fingers moving the entire time. “It’s not your fault, Jim,” he says as kindly as he can without looking at the other man or pausing in the constant stream of data he’s entering and trying to process.

“Do you ever think that he doesn’t belong here?” Kirk asks suddenly. “That he’s not happy here, that he’d be happier if he’d gone to New Vulcan?”

McCoy doesn’t look at Kirk, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“I don’t understand him.” Kirk’s arms squeeze across his chest tighter, “I can’t make him happy. I thought maybe . . . I don’t know what he wants.”

“Jim, this is Spock,” McCoy says, “You don’t do subtlety; Spock doesn’t do subtlety. So if you have something to tell Spock, just tell him. Oh!”

“What?” Kirk spins to look at him. “You have it?”

“I have it!”

McCoy spins to face another data bank and starts punching in information before grabbing the tube from the medical replicator, then both he and Kirk run.

“There.” McCoy presses the hypospray against Spock’s neck.

“Come on.” Kirk places his hand on top of Spock’s on the biobed and McCoy pretends not to notice. “Come on.”

“Oh thank God.” McCoy’s scanning the biobed read outs, reading through the latest diagnostic, “He’s stabilizing.”

“Bones!” Kirk yells, “I think he’s coming around.

“What?” McCoy asks incredulously, just as Spock arches off the bed, rolls over and vomits all over himself and Kirk.

“Jim,” Spock says shakily and passes out again. McCoy scans him but his life signs are now normal for a half-Vulcan. McCoy looks up at Kirk and then points toward the decontamination showers and Kirk lets go of Spock’s hand and wordlessly goes.

 

V.

“I know we haven’t talked in five days,” McCoy says as soon as Ambassador Spock peals off from the small group of Vulcan delegates and McCoy, who’s been trailing the group, speeds up to join him. “And I’m sorry about that; we had an away mission go bad.”

“Was anyone injured?” Spock asks heading towards his own quarters.

“An Ensign died.” McCoy tells him, “Spock was unconscious for most of that time; he’s still in sickbay being monitored by Chris. Jim’s with him.”

“I see.” Spock keys open his door and steps through it, “And I am assuming the fact that you have been following me since my arrival on the ship indicates that the Commander is in no immediate danger and you are off duty.” 

“Yeah.” McCoy comes to a stop just inside the door. “And Chris said if I didn’t leave sickbay for a couple hours she’d kick me out and lock me in my quarters. Well,” McCoy’s mouth slants up in a smile, “that’s actually the more polite version of what she told me.”

“Indeed.” Spock turns to face him, “I should allow you to rest then, Doctor.” He inclines his head slightly, “I will see you after your next shift.”

“Wait,” McCoy crosses his arms over his chest, “I’m not going anywhere, Spock.”

“Yes, Doctor?” Spock’s eyebrows go up and Spock advances on him until he is standing so close he’s almost but not quite touching McCoy, “Then how may I be of assistance?”

McCoy’s hands come forward and twist in the heavy black fabric of Spock’s suit jacket, drawing Spock forward until their bodies are pushed flush against each other. “You can start by kissing me,” McCoy tells him, and Spock’s hands come up to cradle the younger man’s face as Spock leans forward and does just that. McCoy makes a soft noise and opens his mouth under Spock’s, pressing against the older man’s tall frame. Spock backs him up very gently against the closed door, deepening the kiss, allowing his tongue to enter the other man’s mouth, and McCoy only moans again, tongue surging against Spock’s as their bodies rub and press together. Spock moves his hands away from McCoy’s face to brace them against the door on either side of his head.

“Bed,” McCoy says firmly, if a little breathlessly, when they both draw back for air. He kisses a small trail of light kisses across the line of Spock’s face, up those high cheekbones, across the line around his mouth. Spock puts his arms around McCoy’s waist and pulls him in the direction of the bedroom. McCoy strips off his uniform shirt as they go and Spock runs one hand up McCoy’s chest, touching the small amount of dark hair in the very center.

“Spock.” McCoy moves them around in a clumsy little circle and pushes Spock gently onto the bed. He kisses the other man slowly and insistently, as his hands undo the claps of Spock’s shirt and push it open and then off. McCoy’s hands stroke up and down the black undershirt Spock is wearing underneath it, while his lips move across Spock’s face, kiss his ears, before heading down. McCoy kisses and licks at his neck, kisses skin loosened by age and lightly nips at the soft skin where Spock’s throat curves into shoulder. His fingers pull at the bottom of Spock’s undershirt, but it seems to have momentarily stumped him. Spock reaches down and pulls his undershirt off himself, and McCoy rubs his hands across the other man’s chest, through the grey hair there. Spock’s body is still solid and strong; McCoy kisses down across his shoulder and across Spock’s chest.

“Leonard, the situation would be greatly facilitated if you were to take off your clothes.” McCoy rolls his eyes and sits back, struggling out of his boots, socks, pants and underwear, watching Spock undress himself, still managing to be neat and efficient even while lying down. Finally Spock offers his hands to McCoy, pulling the much younger man down on top of him and cupping his face to kiss him again. McCoy tangles one hand in Spock’s grey hair and presses the other against his shoulder. Spock breaks the kiss and lightly kisses along McCoy’s face before turning them so that Spock is lying above him. He rubs his hands across McCoy chest, lightly pinching at McCoy’s nipples.

“Spock.” McCoy’s hands come up to cup the back of Spock’s neck, rubbing at the short hairs there; they kiss – long, slow and wet. McCoy thrusts up against the curve of Spock’s hip, suddenly realizing how painfully hard he has become, just from all the gentle kissing and petting. “So good, so good Spock . . . love . . . beautiful.”

Spock kisses his throat, entwines their fingers so that their palms can rub together.

“What do you want, Leonard?” One of Spock’s long fingered hands strokes down McCoy’s body, lining up their erections. Spock’s hand wraps around them both and McCoy arches off the bed into Spock’s touch. Spock begins to stroke them both, slowly and slightly awkwardly, but then faster and with growing confidence. McCoy thrusts up into Spock’s hand, squirming a little until he gets the right angle and gasps, clutching at Spock’s shoulders. Spock makes no noise, but his breathing becomes ragged and his head lowers as he breathes in hard little gasps against McCoy’s neck, and McCoy screws his eyes shut, his hips thrusting faster. He wants this to last; he wants this to last for as long as possible because they’ve never had the time for this before, this slow sensual exploring and touch, and he’s not sure when they will again. It’s been too long though, and he’s not going to last. He suddenly realizes he has no idea what Spock likes sexually and he’s on the cusp of getting nervous about it when Spock twists his wrist just right and McCoy moans, hands clenching on Spock’s shoulders, hips thrusting helplessly up. One of his hands leaves Spock’s shoulder to grip his ass as McCoy grinds into him, and then he’s coming and coming hard, everything going white and sparkly around the edges. He’s dimly aware that Spock goes rigid above him and thrusts hard against McCoy’s hips twice before also coming.

They just lie there, Spock on top of him, and McCoy can’t really find it in himself to care. Actually, he likes the solid weight of the other man pinning him down against the bed, although the come between them is starting to dry and after a long moment he regretfully pushes at Spock until Spock rolls over. McCoy gets up and finds his way to the bathroom where he wets a cloth and uses it to clean himself off before heading back to the bedroom. He cleans Spock off gently and then drops the cloth on the floor, ignoring the way Spock’s eyebrows twitch at that. He sits on the bed next to Spock’s reclining form, laying his hand against Spock’s stomach.

“Spock?”

“Yes, Leonard.” Spock’s eyes have closed again and McCoy takes a deep breath and steels himself for what he’s going to say next.

“We need to talk.”

“Indeed.” Spock opens his eyes and looks at McCoy and McCoy can’t quite meet that gaze, so instead he looks at the bed and wipes his free hand across his own thigh. His hands have started to shake and he can’t quite make them stop.

“Yeah. About . . .” he takes a deep breath. “About you and me, about us, about this relationship and the fact that we hardly ever actually see each other face to face.”

Spock has gone very still underneath McCoy’s hand on the bed, but McCoy just keeps on talking because he knows if he stops now he’s going to lose his nerve.

“The thing is, I really like you.” He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and wishes he weren’t such a coward when it came to stuff like this, “I mean I . . . I love you.”

He stops and looks down at his hand lying against Spock’s bare stomach, shaking uncontrollably now, and he clenches it. Spock’s hand comes down to cover his and McCoy wonders what Spock feels when he touches him. Whether he can feel McCoy’s overwhelming terror at the idea of screwing this up again, of losing Spock, of hurting him, or how much he’s in love . . .

“Leonard, look at me,” Spock says softly; two long fingers push McCoy’s chin up and McCoy finally meets Spock’s dark eyes.

“I want to bond with you.”

Spock’s eyes sweep across his face for a long minute. And then Spock takes his hand away from McCoy’s chin and holds two fingers out to him and McCoy accepts the kiss and the comfort it represents, his hands stills shaking. Both of Spock’s hands come up then to cradle his face, and for a long moment Spock just looks at him, and then he kisses him on the lips and McCoy’s eyes slide shut and he feels instead of sees Spock’s fingers find the points on his face. Then the full intensity of everything that is Spock hits him like a wall and he might have gasped, and he knows Spock is smiling. Spock’s hand drops, but McCoy can still feel him, burning like a livewire inside of him. McCoy reaches out almost blindly, catching Spock’s face, pulling the other man to him and kissing him with almost overwhelming need, and Spock growls deep in his chest, his arms coming around McCoy’s waist and lifting him, pulling him onto Spock’s lap.

I love you. You, and only you.

Spock says in both their minds and McCoy kisses him again.

 

VI.

McCoy wakes much later, sweating and shaking from a dream he only half remembers. He takes several deep breaths and rolls a little away from Spock on the bed. He can feel the bond, their bond, in the back of his head, and it’s not comfortable and it doesn’t feel right, but he knows he’ll get used to it.

Calm down, he tells himself sternly, this was your choice, this was something you wanted, this is something you want.

Still, he can’t quite control the panic that rises in him at the feeling of something foreign at the edge of his consciousness. He grits his teeth and takes several deep, calming breaths, screwing his eyes shut.

What if this doesn’t work out, a small part of his mind shrieks at him, do Vulcans even have the concept of divorce?

He looks behind him at Spock - curled up on his side, face relaxed in sleep, looking strangely vulnerable - and the idea of hurting him, of having this relationship go as wrong as it could, makes him feel ill, makes his hands start shaking again. He loves Spock, he really does, and Spock deserves this - not that McCoy can understand why Spock wants him in the first place - but Spock deserves to be happy. He’s going to make sure this works.

“Leonard?” Spock’s pushed himself up behind McCoy, and although his voice is as emotionless as ever, McCoy feels the concern ripple through their link.

“It’s ok, Spock.” McCoy reaches out for the other man’s hand, takes comfort at the slow, sweet affection he feels when their fingers meet. “It’ll be alright.” He leans against Spock’s shoulder, smells the warm, spicy scent of Spock’s skin, shuts his eyes.

Spock doesn’t understand this. McCoy can feel that; he doesn’t understand McCoy’s fear or hesitation, or his reaction to either, but Spock doesn’t say that. He doesn’t ask McCoy to explain himself, or tell McCoy that he’s being emotional or illogical. It’s suddenly very humbling when McCoy realizes that after over a hundred and fifty years of life, Spock still doesn’t understand this, but he trusts McCoy, and McCoy said it would be alright. So Spock leans his cheek against his mate’s, and trusts that it will be.


End file.
